


All the Things We Don't Mean

by Gampyre



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carry On Countdown 2020 (Simon Snow), Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Face-Fucking, Facials, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/pseuds/Gampyre
Summary: A mishap with an ancient artifact leaves Baz and Simon magickally bonded together, with no choice but to fulfill the terms of the marriage rite they accidentally initiated. But the completion of the ritual is only the beginning.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 51
Kudos: 278
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	All the Things We Don't Mean

**Author's Note:**

> I take many liberties with canon. Everything up to 7th year in canon can be assumed to have happened prior to this story, though the events of Carry On have been modified. Most importantly, Simon didn't lose his magic, and he and Baz never got together, though the Mage is no longer in the picture.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn), [shushu_yaoi_lj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj), and [Theawkwardbibliophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theawkwardbibliophile/pseuds/Theawkwardbibliophile) for making this so much better than it would have been without them ❤️
> 
> **In the text exchanges, Simon is in bold; Baz is in italics.**

*******

**OCTOBER**

_3425 miles away_

***

“We could wait a little longer. They might still find an alternative.”

Simon didn’t respond. What could he say? Baz had been reciting the same refrain for two months—sixty-one days, to be precise. Sixty-one days of fruitless searches and tense arguments. Sixty-one days of watching helplessly as their bodies failed them. Sixty-one days of feigning blindness to the pity and sympathy written on the faces of their loved ones. No, there was no alternative, and they both knew it.

Simon slowly reached for his collar and slipped the top button through the hole. He kept his head bowed and his eyes firmly trained on the floor in front of him, more from exhaustion than embarrassment, though he wasn’t exactly happy that Baz was about to see his body in all its naked glory. He wasn’t sure what Baz would see, anyway. Simon had stopped looking in the mirror three weeks ago, when the ridges of his ribs began to show, protruding from his chest the way they used to when he was younger and spent the summers in transit between care homes. 

Simon hesitated after he undid the second button, then dropped his arms to his sides with a sigh, his muscles burning something fierce. It took another moment for him to summon enough energy to lift his hands again and undo the rest of the buttons. 

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms and fall in a wrinkled heap onto the floor of Baz’s childhood bedroom. Simon was quite sure no clothing had ever been discarded half so carelessly on this particular floor. He felt a bit of satisfaction at the sight of his crumpled shirt in the centre of the rug, the only thing out of place in the room. 

Turning around, Simon sat heavily at the foot of Baz’s bed before reaching for the button of his trousers. Against the opposite wall, Baz leaned back and watched. He tried not to stare at Simon’s chest, or at the mole next to his left nipple, or at the way the skin puffed and sagged around his joints and under his plain blue eyes. He’d spent eight years watching Simon from across the room, and by this point, the squeeze in his heart that accompanied the sight was as familiar to him as the moles on Simon’s face. 

Baz was faring slightly better than Simon thus far, thanks to his particular physiological advantages, but only just. He’d found himself needing to feed more and more often lately, as if the curse was leaching the nutrients out of any blood he drank, and he hadn’t been able to stop shivering since the Tuesday before last.

Simon was sullen, silent, though that was nothing new. He hadn’t made eye contact with Baz since Mitali had informed them what had happened and what it was they had to do to avoid a slow and painful death.

Baz took a deep breath and gestured tiredly in Simon’s general direction, where Simon had given up on removing his trousers and had flopped backward onto the bed, his arms over his face and his feet still on the ground. “You’re going to have to take the rest of your clothes off, Snow. Get on with it. We haven’t got all day.” 

Baz suppressed the thrill that went through him at the thought of seeing Simon naked. He focused instead on the guilt that came along with knowing that the only time he would ever have the chance to sleep with Simon was when it had been magickally forced on them, and that Simon found the idea of it only slightly more appealing than death. He’d had so many fantasies involving Simon over the years, but in all of them, Simon had wanted it as much as he had. Nothing about this scenario was right. All Baz could do was try his best to make it as painless as possible for Simon, and make sure that he wasn’t taking advantage. He wouldn’t touch Simon unless absolutely necessary, and even then, as little as he could manage.

Simon tilted his head up to glare at Baz, then dropped it back onto the mattress, frowning at the gargoyles carved into the bed frame above him. “Not all the way. Just gotta get my dick out, yeah?” His voice came out a bit strangled. He’d been given strict instructions by Penny in the car on the ride over to Pitch Manor. _Act nice, Simon. This doesn’t have to be entirely awful. Just… try to be civil about it. Be civil, and make it quick. It’s not like you’re making love to each other._

 _Making love._ Hah! Love certainly had nothing to do with it.

Baz glared at Simon with narrowed eyes. “Right then.” He pulled his jumper off over his head in one fluid motion, draped it over the back of the sofa, and dropped his hands to his flies. He paused. Simon had his eyes open, and had turned his head a little to the side, watching Baz undress much the same way Baz had been watching Simon just moments before. Baz felt a shiver run up his spine, though whether it was from the illness or from his discomfort with the sudden intimacy of Simon’s gaze, he didn’t know. Sure, they were about to _do_ some terribly intimate things, but those were merely physical. Baz decided he was far more comfortable with the idea of Simon’s cock inside him than Simon’s eyes on him.

Baz had been with other men before, on those rare weekends late in seventh year when he’d snuck out from Watford with Dev and Niall, and once or twice while he’d been in London over the summer. Not many men, but a few. No one whose name he’d bothered to remember. (Or even ask for.) It had never been anything more than a few fevered kisses and a quick go at it in the men’s room at the bar, or in his car, or in one case, on the sofa in someone else’s apartment. _That_ , Baz understood. Frantically grabbing at each other’s clothes, tugging them off with the shared goal of getting off together. It was impersonal; it was simple. But this? Slowly and deliberately removing his own clothes while Simon watched from the other side of the room? Baz felt as if he were baring far more than just his skin.

“Snow—” he started, but Simon cut him off.

“It’s better if we talk as little as possible.”

Baz nodded sharply once, clenching his jaw, then crossed the room in two strides and focused on removing Simon’s trousers rather than his own. It was easier that way, and Simon certainly wasn’t making any headway on the task by himself. Baz yanked Simon’s pants and trousers down to his knees, then to his ankles, at which point Simon gave in and did the rest, slipping his feet out of the legs and toeing off his socks. Simon sat up then, as Baz finished removing the rest of his clothes.

“How should we…” Simon said, pointedly looking anywhere but Baz’s crotch. 

“Will you be able to stand long enough to do it that way?” Baz asked. He'd rather avoid using the bed, if possible. That would have felt too close to something real.

Simon shrugged. “I can manage.”

“Alright. We’ll do it against the wall then. Just there, by the bed.”

The rest was straightforward enough, if not uncomplicated. Baz leaned back against the wall and did his best to pretend the man in front of him was just another nameless bloke he’d picked up at the club for a meaningless shag. For his part, Simon approached the task the same way he approached a mission he didn’t particularly want to do. Why should shagging the person who hated him most be any different than slaying a dragon? It didn’t have to be, other than the obvious mechanical differences. The idea was the same. Both were unpleasant, but bearable. Simon was no stranger to doing unpleasant tasks, so long as they held some greater benefit, and he supposed that keeping himself from dying a slow and painful death—and saving his friends the pain of having to grieve his loss—was enough to qualify as a _greater benefit_. Penny had broken down in tears the moment the effects of their noncompliance with the bond began to show, and she’d made Simon swear not to let himself die. He’d promised Penny, and he planned to keep that promise. Whatever it took. Even if it meant losing his virginity to Baz Pitch.

It didn’t feel so much different than fighting, really. At least, it didn’t until Baz touched him. Baz wasted no time, reaching down between them to take Simon’s cock in one cold, pale hand. Simon recoiled at the contact.

“That feels like a fucking ice cube!” he hissed. 

“Shut up, Snow. I can’t help it. And you said we weren’t going to talk.”

Simon bit back a retort. Getting in an argument with Baz wouldn’t help anything.

Once Baz began moving his hand, the friction created a bit of warmth, and his touch gradually became more tolerable. Simon relaxed as much as he could, trying to focus on the sensation in his cock, rather than on where the feeling was coming from. That was easier said than done. He’d never been able to stop thinking about Baz, as much as he tried, even over the summers when Baz was nowhere close. Trying not to think about Baz _now_ was entirely impossible, not when Baz was near enough that Simon could smell his bergamot shampoo and the mint on his breath, and most certainly not when his cock was steadily growing harder in Baz’s hand.

 _Fucking ruthless_ , he thought. Baz’s strokes were smooth and sure. Simon had never had anyone else touch him like that before, but Baz seemed to know what he was doing, and he was good at it—good enough that Simon almost didn’t care who it was that was touching him. _Almost_. Baz was relentless. All Simon could do was brace himself with one hand on either side of Baz’s head, standing as still as he could and locking his knees to keep his weakened legs from giving out.

Feeling more than a little disappointed in himself for enjoying it, Simon rocked his hips forward, fucking into Baz’s palm. He couldn’t bring himself to look Baz in the eye, so he settled for staring at Baz’s crooked, too-high nose. 

Baz did, in fact, know exactly what he was doing. He intended to bring Simon to the brink as soon as possible, and did his best not to fixate on the fact that he was touching Simon Snow’s cock—holding it in his hand, stroking it, feeling the warm weight of it against his palm. He propped his foot up on the nightstand and leaned forward, resting his forehead on Simon’s shoulder for support so he could prep himself as he stroked, having spelled his fingers slick before dropping his wand. 

When he was ready and Simon’s legs were shaking almost violently—either from fatigue or from his impending orgasm—Baz turned his back to Simon and braced himself against the wall with his arms. As he waited for Simon to roll on the condom and position himself, Baz took his own cock in his hand and set to getting himself to the edge as well.

After only a minor internal panic at the realization that he’d have to _look_ at Baz’s arse in order to do the rest properly (either that or go by feel, which would have been even worse), Simon took a deep breath and pressed into Baz’s slick, ready hole, placing one warm hand on each of Baz’s hips for leverage. He’d have preferred not to touch Baz at all, but his knees were about to give out, and he needed the support. 

Simon pushed forward slowly at first, until Baz hissed at him to _get on with it already_ , and he thrust the rest of the way in until his balls hit Baz’s arse. He paused then, noting the surprising warmth that enveloped his cock—he hadn’t thought any part of Baz could ever be _warm_ —and waited until Baz gave a brief, curt nod, then thrust rough and hard and fast, pulling out and pushing back in as ruthlessly as Baz had stroked him moments ago. 

Once, twice, three times, then four… then five… and it was over. Simon came with his cock in Baz’s arse and his hands on Baz’s hips. His own hips stuttered and he gasped, unable to hold back the sound of pleasure that escaped his throat. He’d never come so hard before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that, though he would later chalk it up to the fact that it was the first time he’d ever gotten off with another person. It had nothing to do with Baz, specifically. Even still, the smooth grey curve of Baz’s back, the sight of Baz’s shoulders heaving in front of him, and the feel of Baz’s hips canting up and pressing back into him would become permanently engraved in Simon’s memories of that moment.

Baz stroked himself to completion shortly after Simon came, spilling over his fist, the evidence of what they’d done splattered on the red-painted wall in front of him, white as a bridal gown.

They didn’t look at each other after they finished. Simon pulled out, Baz retrieved his wand and spelled them both clean, and they faced opposite directions to dress. Simon left the room first, and Baz waited ten minutes before taking the same path out his bedroom door, down the main stairs, and through the foyer. He peeked through the front window and caught a glimpse of Simon’s bronze curls as he climbed into the backseat of Mitali’s car, where Penny was waiting for him. Mitali herself was still in Malcolm’s study, it seemed. Baz made his way back down the hall to inform her and his father that their little bonding problem had been taken care of.

That was that, then, Baz mused bitterly. His wedding night. Crossed off. Box ticked. _Fini_.

***

**1 YEAR**

_3452 miles away_

***

The table wobbled as Simon tapped his foot nervously against the leg of it. He glanced down at his watch, then back up at the door of the café. Baz was late. 

_Tosser_ , Simon thought. This was all Baz’s fault, anyway. The whole thing. Starting with that big stone he’d picked up in the Mage’s office—no, Mitali’s office, now that she was Headmistress of Watford. Simon, Baz, and Penny had been helping her clear out the Mage’s things—or rather, Simon and Penny had been clearing out the Mage’s things, and Baz had been reclaiming items that had belonged to his mother—and they’d found the stone in one of the cupboards. Baz had handed the stone to Simon with both hands to put in one of the piles of miscellaneous unfamiliar artifacts. The ancient-looking magickal script carved into it was apparently some sort of marriage contract, and at the moment both Baz and Simon were touching the stone, it had magickally bonded them together. _Irreversibly_ , so far as any of them knew.

 _At least it only made us fuck once_ , Simon thought bitterly, flushing a bit at the memory, then checked his watch again and muttered a few choice insults (under his breath, so the diners at the table behind him wouldn’t hear).

“Snow.”

Simon looked up as Baz slid into the seat across from him; he was cool and collected as ever, his face an expressionless mask. Simon wondered briefly what Baz might be hiding under that untouchable indifference, then decided he didn’t give a fuck what Baz was hiding, so long as it didn’t concern him. And seeing as he hadn’t actually _seen_ or _spoken_ to Baz in nearly a year, nothing Baz did should concern him at all. Not anymore.

“You’re late.”

“Delayed train.”

They glared at each other across the table until Baz broke the silence by speaking again. “You’re the one who asked me to come here, so talk. I haven’t got all day.”

Simon gritted his teeth and fought the urge to snap at him. He needed Baz’s cooperation on this, however much he resented having to ask. “Agatha and I are getting married.”

Baz neither looked surprised nor impressed. “So I heard. It’s all anyone talks about at the club. A golden marriage for the golden couple. Next April, is it? Or was it June? Forgive me for not remembering; it’s simply that I don’t care.”

“It’s in May. And there’s a slight problem.”

“Oh?” Baz raised his eyebrows in mock interest, though he had a feeling he already knew what Simon wanted from him. “Whatever might that be?”

“ _We’re_ bonded, you arsehole.” Simon said, not quite managing to curb the contempt behind his words, and Baz gritted his teeth to resist flinching at the vitriol in his voice. It hurt to be reminded of how deeply Simon’s hatred of him ran. “You and me. Which means I can’t get bonded to _Agatha_. We won't be able to do the magic part of the wedding ceremony.”

“Ahhh.” Baz’s upper lip curled in a sneer—an expression all too familiar, although it had been ages since Simon had seen it. “I’d almost forgotten. A pity you can’t have us both.”

“Right, well, that’s the thing. I need you to explicitly state that you’re okay with me getting magickally married to someone else while remaining bonded to you. I need you to swear it with magic. There’s an incantation—Penny wrote it down. Otherwise… well, you can guess what happens. To both of us, mind. Not just to me.”

Baz winced, remembering how miserable those two months had been before they’d consummated that cursed bond. Thankfully, those ill effects had reversed once they’d complied with the terms of the ancient contract. “What’s in it for me?”

Simon frowned. “What’s in it for you is that you don’t die a slow and painful death because the magickal bond thinks I’m cheating on you.”

Baz snorted. “You’ve been cavorting with Wellbelove all year.”

“That’s not the same as—You and I aren’t _actually_ married, Baz. Not legally, anyway. Just bonded by that stupid spell. And I’ve not been _cavorting_ with her. I’ve hardly seen Agatha at all lately. Not since she started university in California.” Simon didn’t know why he was telling Baz that. Baz didn’t need to know the details of his and Agatha’s engagement. He only needed to explicitly agree to let the magickal bonding part of their wedding happen. “Anyway, you’re not getting anything else out of it.”

“Hmm, that’s really too bad,” Baz mused, “because I can’t seem to care enough to help you, and luckily for me, your inability to wed Wellbelove doesn’t affect me at all. You can convince me to help you by offering me something I want in exchange, or you can find a way to deal with it on your own.”

“I’m not going to bribe you. It goes two ways, alright? I’ll return the favour. I mean, whenever you find someone. I’ll give you my magickal blessing to get bonded to your person too.”

Baz pursed his lips in mock consideration. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I have no plans to ever marry by choice. And since the spell doesn’t seem to recognize a quick fuck with another man as a threat to our bond—ironic, really, considering our magickal marriage was sealed with nothing other than a meaningless shag—I’m perfectly content with the way things are. So, no.”

“What if you change your mind?” Simon pressed. 

“I won’t. Besides, our bond is the only thing preventing my father from forcing me to marry someone else. There are a couple of girls from the Old Families he’s had his eye on for a while. I rather prefer the freedom I’ve got now.”

Simon scowled at him, leveling a glare at Baz’s cold grey eyes. “All you think about is yourself. Fuck you.”

“Quite right. And unless you find something better to offer me, I will continue to indulge my own desires in this matter, which do not include helping you.”

Baz stood and made his way to the exit without waiting for Simon to stammer out a reply.

***

**TWO MONTHS**

_3460 miles away_

***

_This is a terrible idea_ , Simon thought to himself. He wiped his feet on the doormat for the fourth time and re-read the last few text messages in his phone. Simon knew he was stalling, trying to talk himself out of it. He also knew he was going to go inside anyway.

[Jan 3, 10:13 pm] **Are you back in London?**

[Jan 3, 10:23 pm] _Yes, why?_

[Jan 3, 10:26 pm] **I need a distraction.**

[Jan 3, 11:02 pm] _Come over_

The door swung open on the second knock. Simon blinked at the sight of Baz’s outfit. 

“The fuck are you wearing?”

Baz frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, uh, well it’s…” Simon trailed off, gesturing at Baz’s dark grey joggers and thick wool jumper. “It looks comfortable,” he finished. 

“That’s the point.” Baz shivered and stepped back, opening the door a bit wider. “In or out, Snow—it’s freezing out there.”

Simon stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. His cheeks were ruddy and pink from the cold January air. “I just meant, I’d always imagined you lounging around in silk scarves and such. Or maybe posh jeans on your day off.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “And just how often do you imagine me lounging around my flat?” 

“Er, I don’t. I mean, that’s not what I said. Listen, I didn’t come here to talk, alright?” Simon tugged off his coat and draped it over the back of the sofa in the sitting room.

“Of course not,” Baz said, stepping closer to Simon. He was painfully aware that Simon only wanted one thing from him, and it certainly wasn’t stimulating conversation. 

Baz had tied his hair back, and when Simon glanced down, he saw that Baz was wearing socks with little blue snowflakes on them. Simon tucked two fingers in the front of Baz’s waistband and pulled. “I came here because I need a distraction.” Baz took another step toward him, gripping Simon’s hip with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, pushing his fingers into the back of Simon’s hair.

“Then tell me what you want,” Baz whispered, his lips on the shell of Simon’s ear and his deep voice sending shivers down Simon’s spine. Baz pressed closer, and Simon felt the line of his cock against his thigh, already half hard.

“I want to fuck you.” 

The first time Simon had shown up to Baz’s flat, they’d fought. They had argued and shoved each other and hurled insults like they were fifteen again and back at Watford. Simon had been angry and confused, and blamed Baz for all the things that had gone wrong. Mostly, he blamed Baz for the fight he’d had with Agatha when he’d told her they wouldn’t be able to do the magickal parts of their wedding ceremony. He’d said horrible things to Baz, who had matched him blow for verbal blow. Simon had left that night feeling hollow and broken, like something inside him had torn, and he had no thread to stitch it back together.

The second time Simon had shown up to Baz’s flat unannounced was five weeks after the first time, four hours after Agatha had asked for some time apart to think about things. He wasn’t angry anymore—or rather, he was, but at everyone and everything, not just Baz. He hadn’t wanted to be alone that night, but he wasn’t able to stomach the thought of being around people who looked at him in that pitying, worried way; people who asked him a hundred times over whether he was okay; people who told him he needed to eat more, sleep less, get out of the house, talk to someone... 

_Fuck that_ , Simon had thought. Instead, he'd gone to the one person who could give him what he needed, no strings attached. He'd just needed something to make him feel good, if only for a moment. And the thing he wanted _was_ Baz’s conjugal duty, after all, technically speaking. And as it turned out, Baz was more than willing to comply. 

Three days later, Simon had patched things up with Agatha.

There would be no patching up this time, though. Agatha had broken things off for good. They’d fought again at Christmas, and at the end of it, Agatha confessed that she’d already bought a one-way ticket for California. She was going to live with one of her friends from university, and she didn’t plan to ever come back to England.

Her parting words swam in his mind. 

_I’m not your prize for being a hero._

_You don’t know what you want, Simon._

_I don’t think we were ever truly happy together._

And now, in the sitting room of Baz’s flat, Simon let himself drown in the feeling of Baz’s firm body against his. Right now, all that mattered was feeling good. Forgetting. Letting go. Baz wouldn’t ask questions, because as far as he knew, Baz didn’t care, and that was exactly what Simon wanted and needed tonight.

“How do you want me?” Baz breathed against Simon’s neck before kissing it and sucking a mark into it, just above his collarbone. 

Simon responded by slipping both hands under the waistband of Baz’s joggers, cupping his arse over his pants. Simon kneaded the firm, round muscle beneath his fingers, using the pressure to pull Baz closer to him and grind his thigh against Baz’s erection. Simon’s own cock was rapidly swelling, straining the front of his jeans.

“In your bed.” Simon squeezed Baz’s arse again. “On your back.” He leaned in and bit at Baz’s lower lip, letting it slide out between his teeth. “I want you writhing and squirming beneath me.” 

Simon licked the spot on Baz’s lip that he’d bit, then pressed his mouth to Baz’s and shoved his tongue inside. His hands moved upward to the hem of Baz’s T-shirt. He broke their kiss to pull the shirt over Baz’s head, and Baz tugged Simon’s shirt off after, his eyes roaming eagerly over Simon’s chest.

“I’m going to make you beg for it,” Simon continued. “But I won’t let you come. Not until I say so.”

Baz exhaled heavily, fumbling with the zip on Simon’s jeans. He looked up at Simon, pupils blown wide and a hungry look in his eyes. “Will you let me touch you?”

“Yes. I want your hands all over me.” Simon shoved Baz’s joggers and pants down to his thighs, then used his foot to push them down the rest of the way. Baz reached for his own cock, achingly hard and leaking, but Simon slapped his hand away. “Only me. You won’t touch yourself until I tell you to.”

Baz groaned at that, as Simon removed his jeans and pants. Simon reached for him then, kissing him fiercely as he took Baz’s cock in one hand and his own in the other, stroking them both slowly. Baz sighed into Simon’s mouth and ran blunt fingernails up and down Simon’s back, rolling his hips into Simon’s hand.

Simon pulled away suddenly. “Bed,” he said. Baz went and Simon followed, tackling Baz onto the bed and pressing him down into the mattress beneath him. Baz pulled Simon down on top of him, kissing and biting at his shoulder as he wrapped his legs around Simon’s waist and crossed his ankles behind Simon’s hips. Shoving a hand into Baz’s hair and using the leverage to pull Baz’s head back, Simon leaned down and sucked a mark into the soft, sensitive skin at the hollow of Baz’s neck. Baz whimpered, and Simon sucked another one just under his jawline, licking and rolling the skin between his teeth.

“You’re going to look well fucked by the time we’re done,” Simon murmured against Baz’s throat. “Everyone will see the marks I leave on your skin. They’ll see your swollen lips—” In emphasis, Simon nipped at Baz’s lower lip. “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” Simon ground his hips down, rubbing his erection against the curve of Baz’s arse, and Baz moaned. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck, yes, please.”

“Say it again.”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

“ _Again_ ,” Simon growled, and bit at Baz’s earlobe.

“Crowley! Please, I want you to fuck me,” he whined.

Simon found the lube and a condom in the nightstand where Baz directed him, coated his fingers and pressed his index into Baz’s hole.

“Oh, that’s—Yes, that’s good,” Baz said, as Simon moved his finger, pushing it in down to the knuckle.

After a moment, Simon pressed a second finger against his entrance. “I’m going to put another in you now. Can you handle it?”

“Yes, give it to me!” And Simon did. He worked those two fingers into Baz, scissoring them and stretching Baz open. Baz’s cock lay heavy against his hip, achingly hard and painfully neglected. Baz reached for it, but Simon grabbed his wrist with his free hand and pressed Baz’s arm against the mattress beside his head. 

“Don’t move,” he said. “Not until I tell you.” Baz’s breath hitched, and he nodded, his chest already damp with sweat. Simon rolled on the condom and pressed the tip of his cock against Baz’s slick and ready hole. “Here, lift your leg,” Simon said, pulling up on Baz’s knee until Baz rested his ankle on Simon’s shoulder. Simon gripped Baz’s thigh and leaned into it, pushing the head of his cock past Baz’s entrance at the same time.

Baz groaned as Simon pushed deeper and deeper. He desperately wanted to touch himself, but he also wanted Simon to be the one to touch him. There was something thrilling about being at Simon’s mercy, about letting Simon take control.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, as Simon began to move. Simon nodded, and Baz reached out, gripping Simon’s arse in one hand, running his other over Simon’s arms and sides and chest. He fondled Simon’s nipple and felt a surge of satisfaction when Simon threw his head back and grunted approval.

“Fuck, Baz, yes. Keep touching me.” 

Simon thrust harder and faster, pausing only to shift them both backward on the bed after a particularly enthusiastic thrust nearly rammed Baz’s head into the headboard. Sweat dripped down Simon’s back and chest as he moved inside Baz. It felt _amazing_. This was only the second time they’d done this (the third, if he counted the magickally mandated sex last year), and it was better than Simon had remembered.

“Please—” Baz choked out, between thrusts. “Touch me,” he begged. “Please.”

Simon took Baz’s cock and stroked, but when he felt Baz’s legs begin to shake, he stopped abruptly, releasing Baz and stilling inside him.

“Fuck!” Baz whined. “I’m so close, Snow. Don’t stop.”

Simon shook his head. “You’re not going to come yet,” he said, but he started moving again after a moment, and Baz sighed in relief. 

“Crowley, Snow,” he moaned.

Simon pushed Baz’s knee back toward his chest, allowing him to get even deeper than before. When Simon finally took Baz’s erection in his hand again, it only took a couple of strokes before Baz was on the edge of orgasm. 

Once again, Simon stopped. 

“Please,” Baz sobbed. “Touch me.”

“One more time,” Simon urged. “One more and then I’ll let you come. It will be worth it, trust me.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Simon resumed his movements, and Baz was soon ready to come, even without Simon touching his cock this time. When Simon stopped, Baz sobbed, reaching for Simon and trying to roll his hips up into him, but Simon held him still. “Good job,” he said. “You did so well.”

“Please,” Baz said again.

“Okay,” Simon replied. “Go ahead. Come for me.” He renewed his thrusts, pounding into him with reckless speed and force, and Baz knew Simon was right when he’d said Baz would feel it the next day. Simon barely touched Baz’s cock before Baz came. He came harder than he’d ever come before, the edges of his vision going black before he closed his eyes and let himself be absorbed in the feeling. Simon came shortly after, his tired muscles going limp after he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside Baz.

When they’d caught their breath, Simon made his way to the bathroom, cleaned himself off, and grabbed a clean, wet rag that he used to wipe the spunk off of Baz’s chest. Baz could have used a spell to do it, but Simon was adamant that **_Clean as a whistle_ ** didn’t get things very clean at all, and Baz wanted Simon to do it himself, anyway. He was warm and satisfied, but he also felt tired and a bit hollow and more than a little sore. It helped to feel Simon’s hands gently cleaning him off, brushing soothingly over his skin.

Simon tossed the rag to the floor and grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over him and Baz. He curled up against Baz’s side and kissed his shoulder. Humming contentedly, Baz draped his heavy arms around Simon, clutching him closer to his chest as he drifted into sleep.

***

**FOUR MONTHS**

_3460 miles away_

***

  
  


“Fuck,” Simon groaned, sinking his fingers into Baz’s hair and pulling on it. Baz moaned around Simon’s prick, and Simon’s hips stuttered. He thrust forward without meaning to. When Baz choked, Simon pulled back with an apology, but Baz merely hummed approval, concentrated a moment to make sure his fangs remained firmly retracted, and tugged at Simon’s hips, inviting him to do it again. So Simon did. 

Keeping a firm grip on Baz’s hair, he leaned back just a bit to rest his shoulders against the interior side of Baz’s front door—they hadn’t managed to make it any further inside the flat—then let his head fall back as he thrust harder into Baz’s mouth, fucking roughly into Baz’s throat. Baz took him down eagerly and swallowed around him, causing Simon to curse and gasp again. 

He’d been coming to Baz’s flat more and more often lately. Ever since Agatha left, Simon found his mind an unpleasant place to be. Thoughts of failure, feelings of worthlessness, and the overwhelming urge to just _run away_ plagued him day and night. He cried often, and drank more, and crawled into Baz’s bed whenever he needed something from him. Some nights, he needed to be in control; other nights, he needed to let go. Some nights, he couldn’t stand the idea of kissing or cuddling; other nights, he needed companionship in addition to pleasure, and would stay the night. He slept better in Baz’s bed, even if it inevitably gave him a bitter taste in his mouth the next day when he thought about how he’d always planned to be married and wake up every morning next to someone who loved him.

If only he knew that on those nights, Baz would lie awake and watch him sleep. Baz would brush the hair from his face and press a soft kiss to his forehead, or his cheek, or the tip of his nose, giving extra attention to whichever mole he favoured at the time. And after making certain that Simon was well and truly asleep, Baz would whisper three short words in his ear. 

_I love you_. 

Baz knew that what they were doing could only bring him pain, but he wasn’t strong enough to push Simon away. He’d loved Simon so deeply and for so long that he found himself utterly incapable of refusing him when he came crawling back to Baz’s door time after time. It hurt to know that Simon was using him for comfort, but he would have done anything to keep Simon close to him, and somewhere deep down, Baz felt that he deserved the pain. He accepted it because he believed he deserved to suffer for being what he was. 

A monster. A disappointment. A failure. 

And so, whenever Simon showed up at his door, whatever Simon wanted from him, Baz gave. It was a small price to pay for getting to see him and touch him and smell him and hold him the way he’d always wanted to do.

Tonight, Simon wanted to fuck Baz’s mouth, so Baz gave that to him, tilting his head and relaxing his jaw and urging Simon on with hands on his hips. Simon’s hands were fisted in his hair, holding Baz’s head in place as he thrust into Baz’s mouth over and over. He wasn’t gentle, but Baz didn’t want him to be. He wanted to wake up tomorrow with a voice as raw and used as he felt inside. 

He liked the bruises Simon left when he sucked on Baz’s skin. He liked it when Simon fucked him hard enough that he could feel it all throughout the next day. Simon never stayed past the morning, but he could keep the physical reminders of what they’d done for a little longer.

“Fuck, Baz,” Simon sighed, lifting his head from the wall and then letting it drop back with a soft _thump_. “You feel so good.”

Baz hummed in response, and Simon shuddered at the vibration around his cock. 

“I’m—” Simon gasped. “I’m close.” He released Baz’s hair and pushed him off. “Can I—your face?”

Baz replaced his mouth with his hand, stroking Simon until he came, sticking his tongue out to lick at the tip of Simon’s cock one last time. Simon came with a long, low groan. His come splattered over Baz’s face—his closed eyes, his crooked nose, his open, swollen mouth—and then he tugged Baz to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

Simon wiped at the spunk on Baz’s cheek, then shoved his come-covered thumb in Baz’s mouth. Baz licked it, sucked on it, swallowed around it. Then he looked down at Simon through dark eyelashes.

Simon stared at him, taking in the sight of the white streaks on his forehead over those silver eyes, and found he couldn’t look away. Baz lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped his face with it. 

For a moment, Baz thought Simon might be leaning in, but he gave Baz a shove backwards instead, stepping into his space and pushing, following after him until they’d made it down the hallway, through a doorway, and into Baz’s bedroom. 

The backs of Baz’s knees hit the mattress, and Simon pushed at him again, shoving him onto his back on the bed. Simon straddled him, pressing Baz down into the sheets and rolling his hips over Baz’s achingly hard cock. He’d been hard since Simon had walked in the front door, and it was starting to become painful. In a matter of seconds, the last remaining bits of fabric between them had been shed and tossed aside.

“Snow,” Baz gasped, his pupils wide and dark with arousal. “You can’t possibly be ready to go again already.”

Simon shook his head with a small smirk. “Soon. But no. I want you to fuck me now.”

Baz blinked and propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” Simon insisted. He pushed Baz back down and leaned over him, kissing his neck, his chest, his sternum. 

Simon took Baz’s cock in one hand and began to stroke it languidly. Baz groaned at the contact, then brought his hands up to grab Simon’s hips. He dug his fingers into the fat there, kneading it beneath his palms, then ran his hands up and down Simon’s muscular thighs, dragging his fingertips through the soft hair that covered his legs. Simon was so warm under his hands, on top of his thighs, around his hips. Baz wanted more. He wanted to feel Simon’s warmth everywhere. He felt a thrill go through him at the thought that Simon wanted that too.

Baz told himself it didn’t mean anything, that Simon was just in the mood to try something new. It felt like something significant though, like maybe if Simon trusted Baz enough for this, that he might eventually trust Baz in other ways as well… But Baz knew exactly where he stood in Simon’s life, and what it was that Simon wanted from him. 

He knew that Simon was using him, and he hated Simon for it. He hated him, and he loved him. And sometimes, hate and love, when they’re at their strongest, can become muddled, confused; the mess and mixture of them dubbed _passion_ , because the result is the same in the end. 

Obsession. Emotional dependency. Tension and release. 

What did it matter whether this particular passion was driven by love or hate? 

“May I?” He trailed one finger slowly back up Simon’s thigh, over his hip, around his waist, then down the crease between Simon’s buttocks, pressing the tip of his finger against the puckered hole there. 

Simon shivered, then nodded. “Condom and lube?”

“Top drawer, just there.”

Simon leaned over and reached into the top drawer of Baz’s night stand, then pulled out a condom and a little bottle of lube. He passed them to Baz, who uncapped the lube and squeezed a bit onto his fingers before pressing them back against Simon’s hole, circling it, teasing it, rubbing the pad of his finger up and down over it.

Simon spread his knees apart and leaned forward, letting his forearm fall beside Baz’s head to take all his weight as his other hand resumed stroking Baz between them, pulling gently at his foreskin, running his thumb over Baz’s slit. Baz arched his back, trying to press up into Simon’s hand even as he slid the tip of one finger inside him. 

This was new territory in more ways than one. Simon tried to ignore the nagging feeling that they were crossing a line they couldn’t return from. Even as Baz took him apart with just a few fingers pressed inside him, even as he looked down at Baz’s cool grey eyes blown wide with lust, even as he shifted the forearm he leant on so that his fingers could comb through Baz’s hair and he felt a twist in his gut that wasn’t purely arousal… even then, Simon wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —let himself entertain the idea that it might _mean_ something. 

Simon lowered himself onto Baz’s cock, already half hard again himself, and rode Baz ruthlessly, his thighs flexing under Baz’s palms as he lifted and lowered himself, his buttocks clenching around Baz’s cock each time he rose up, relaxing again each time he sank back down. 

His hands found Baz’s chest; his fingers dug into the skin there, fingernails leaving little red crescent moons behind. Baz would see those marks the next morning in the mirror—another physical reminder that his heart—and body—belonged to Simon Snow.

Baz brought one hand up and guided Simon’s hand to his nipple, and Simon took the hint. He began rubbing and flicking and rolling Baz’s nipples, fucking himself on Baz’s cock faster and more recklessly. Baz came hard, and Simon felt him shudder beneath him when he did. By the time Simon rolled off Baz, his cock was hard and leaking again. Baz didn’t hesitate before taking Simon in his hand, then his mouth, for the second time that evening. 

They hadn’t talked about it the first time. They didn’t talk about it this time, even as they lay curled up together in Baz’s bed afterwards. Neither of them was willing to acknowledge what was happening, though they both knew. In hindsight, it became obvious, but at the time, it was impossible, improbable, unspeakable.

The less they talked, the easier it was to pretend—for Baz to pretend he didn’t care, to pretend that each touch from Simon wasn’t ripping open the barely healed wounds in his heart; for Simon to pretend that getting off with Baz was no different than getting off alone or with a stranger.

The less they talked, the easier it was to pretend, but the harder it was to bear.

And everything has a breaking point.

***

**TWO YEARS**

_3447 miles away_

***

Four years after they’d been bonded and twenty-one months since the last time they’d seen each other, Simon and Baz found themselves back in the headmistress’s office at Watford, sitting across from Mitali and Penny, listening to them explain what they’d found. The Bunces had found a way to break the bond, a way to get things back to normal.

It was too little, too late.

Still, they agreed to try. All they needed to do was hold that stone—damned object—and swear with magic that they no longer wished to be bonded. It would have been simple enough, had Mitali figured that out four years earlier. But when Baz and Simon knelt across from each other and clasped the artifact between joined hands, their eyes met, and something wordless passed between them.

They said exactly what Mitali told them to say, repeated the words of the incantation perfectly, but it didn’t work. 

The bond didn’t waver, because the words were false. Baz didn’t truly wish to be separated from Simon; he wished for Simon to love him in return. And Simon looked into Baz’s eyes and thought that Baz knew him better than anyone, even Penny. Baz had seen him at his absolute worst, and had given him everything he’d needed, and had never once looked at him with pity or disappointment. Simon knew that Baz’s life was entangled with his now, and that even if they broke the bond, they’d never be fully separated from each other. 

The strange part was that he wasn’t sure that he minded.

They’d tried already, after all. They’d tried to live separate lives. They’d tried it right after they’d consummated the bond, and then again after those months that he and Baz had filled with heated, fevered sex—that time had ended so quickly, and so horribly. Simon had never felt so broken as he did when he walked out of Baz’s flat for the last time. And the look on Baz’s face that night still haunted him, even after nearly two years of distance in both space and time. The things he’d said, the things Baz had said… 

There was a reason they never talked. And that was why. They weren’t capable of it, not without hurting each other in the most terrible ways. They knew each other’s weaknesses. They knew each other’s fears and failures and flaws. Angry and hurt, they had both exploited that knowledge, hitting low and hitting hard, until whatever tenuous emotional connection there was between them seemed broken beyond repair.

And yet, in spite of everything, when Simon met Baz’s eyes over the top of that stone and felt Baz’s cool fingers under his own, he felt, for the first time, hope. A chance. A possibility that they might be able to repair whatever it was that had kept the bond intact, the same thing that the Crucible had recognized, all those years before.

***

**ONE WEEK**

_3460 miles away_

***

From: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Sent to: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

Date: November 3, 2020, 1:45 AM

Subject: An apology

Dear Simon,

I’m not one for apologies. You know this about me. That said, I believe this time I’ve fucked up grandly enough that I owe you an apology anyway. I’ve fucked up your life, and I’ve stolen your future. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

I want to explain what happened last week, and why it happened, and then I’ll be out of your life for good. 

I’ve spent an hour already trying to figure out how to say this, and nothing I try seems right. I suppose there’s no point in beating around the bush: I’m in love with you. I have been for a long, long time now. At least since fifth year; possibly since the day I met you. I won’t blame you if you don’t believe me—I know I’ve been awful to you. Would you believe me if I said I did the things I did because I thought that keeping you at a distance and making you hate me would keep me from getting hurt? I’ve been cruel and unforgiving, but mostly I’ve been selfish. And Crowley, how wrong I was. All I accomplished was hurting myself more, and damaging you in the process.

What happened last week, when we tried to break the bond and it failed… I must confess to you that it was my fault. The desire to break the bond has to be real, and it has to be mutual. Just as with any magic, intent matters, and my intentions were not right. I’m afraid that I cannot truthfully say that I wish to be separated from you, in any sense at all. All I’ve ever wanted was to be close to you, but I cannot be near you without doing more harm to myself or to you. I hope that with some distance, you’ll be able to forget me and live a relatively happy life. As for me, I’ll one day find some sense of peace in my solitude.

I wish things were different. I wish that I did not feel this way, because then everything would be so much simpler, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry that I cannot change the way I feel. Believe me when I say I’ve tried. 

I’m sorry, Simon. I wish you all the best. 

Do not feel guilty about it when you forget me. It is what I want—for you to live a long and happy life, unburdened by me.

Baz

***

**ONE HOUR**

_3458 miles away_

***

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

{DRAFT} To: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: November 3, 2020, 2:42 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

What the actual fcuk?!?? Baz you can’t jsut say you love me in a fucking email??? No one even fucking talks by email anymore i have a phone for a reason you FUCKING WANKER just fucking CALL ME

  
  
  


_{Draft discarded}_

  
  


* * *

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

{DRAFT} To: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: November 3, 2020, 3:04 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

It’s not your fault. ~~I was the one who~~ It wasn’t just you. I mean, ~~I don’t think I’m in love with you or anything, but~~ I don’t want you gone

{Draft discarded}  
  


* * *

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

{DRAFT} To: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: November 3, 2020, 3:17 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

I don’t understand why you didn’t just say something when we were at mitali’s office. I mean 

{Draft discarded}

  
  
  


* * *

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

{DRAFT} To: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: November 3, 2020, 6:53 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

fucking hell baz ive been up all night bc of u 

you have teh WORST timing did u know that. i have a 12 hr shift at the cafe today and isdkfajsdhfa;ksf

how the fcuk am i spposed to function like a human being after u dump all that on me at once n run away huh?

{Draft discarded}  
  
  


* * *

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

{DRAFT} To: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: November 3, 2020, 11:38 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

So ive read your email like a billion times and I’m still confused? Like what do u mean u fucked up my life?? The only way youre fucking up my life is by walking away from me right now

also ?? you’ve loved me since FIFTH YEAR?? that is so many years. How did you not go mad? Ive only realized i have feelings for you like recently and i already thought i was going absolutely mad and thats why i got so angry that last time. When i found some other bloke’s pants in your bathroom after id been coming over like almost every other day. I mean i knew we weren’t dating or anything but i guess i didn’t realize it meant something to me until

Fucking hell 

{Draft discarded}

* * *

_Fuck this_ , Simon thought. He didn’t know why he was bothering to write Baz an email when they both had perfectly functional phones. The moment his lunch break rolled around, Simon dialed Baz’s number. When Baz didn’t answer, he called again. And again.

Simon felt like throwing his phone at the wall, but that wouldn’t have helped anything. He took a few deep breaths and opened his messages.

[Nov 3, 12:47 pm] **can we talk**

[Nov 3, 12:47 pm] **please baz**

[Nov 3, 12:48 pm] **i’m not good with words and i don’t know how to respond to your email so can we please talk on the phone**

[Nov 3, 12:49 pm] **?**

He tried again on his afternoon break, but Baz still didn’t pick up. He sent a few more messages.

[Nov 3, 4:36 pm] **baz i know you’ve seen these by now stop being a fucking coward and answer your goddamn phone**

[Nov 3, 4:42 pm] **ok i admit that was a bit rude but can you text me back?**

[Nov 3, 5:12 pm] **listen my break’s over and im on the clock again but i have my phone on me and on vibrate so if u call i’ll know and i’ll answer**

[Nov 3, 6:20 pm] **call me**

[Nov 3, 6:21 pm] **please?**

  
  


***

**ONE MONTH**

_1361 miles away_

***

Baz sighed, staring at the screen in front of him, his laptop propped up on the tiny tray table attached to the seat in front of him. He’d re-read the email over and over and over again. He'd found it in his inbox when he’d connected to the airplane wifi, somewhere 10,000+ feet in the air over the Atlantic Ocean.

Well, reading it one more time wouldn’t hurt. Maybe the twenty-sixth time would be the charm, and he’d manage to come up with a response to it.

From: Simon Snow (ssnowscone@gmail.com)

Sent to: T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch (tbgpitch@lse.ac.uk)

Date: December 7, 2020, 10:48 AM

Subject: Re: An apology

Hey, Baz. It’s been a month and you clearly don’t want to talk to me or see me, and Penny said she’d heard from someone who’d heard from Dev who’d heard from your step-mum that you were leaving England but didn’t know exactly where you were going. I’m not going to try to figure it out or follow you or anything since I know you wouldn’t want that. And I’ll stop trying to send you messages, too. There’s just some things I want you to know, so I’m gonna say them and then I’ll leave you alone.

I’ve thought about this a lot, and Penny read this email before I sent it and said that it communicates the things I want it to. So here goes.

I guess first off as long as we’re apologizing for things, I’m sorry too. For all the stuff at Watford, and for using you as a distraction when everything else around me felt like it was falling apart. That wasn’t fair to you, and I shouldn’t have done that. I want to say that if I’d known you had feelings for me, I wouldn’t have taken advantage of that. I guess I can’t say for sure, but if I were to do it over again I wouldn’t do what I did. I mean I don’t regret the sex part. The sex was really really good and I would very much like to do that again. But I would want to do it because I want to be with you and not because I’m trying to avoid thinking about my problems. 

I’m also sorry for all those things I said that last time we were together. I didn’t mean them. Well maybe I did at the time when I said them but I wish I could take them back. I wish I could go back to that day and turn my sorry arse around and march right back through your door to talk it through like adults. I shouldn’t have gotten so jealous and angry with you for sleeping with other people. We weren’t dating and you don’t belong to me and you did nothing wrong. I wish I had apologized to you and made it up to you because maybe then we’d be together now.

Also, you should know that it wasn’t your fault we couldn’t break the bond. Not entirely, anyway. You see, I didn’t really want it to break either. I thought… well I don’t know what I thought because I tried so hard not to think about it, but I think somehow I knew I would miss you. I dunno that a magickal bond is the best way to go about keeping people in my life, but I wish you could still be a part of my life in some way, even if it’s just as a friend. I really miss you.

And well, okay, I may not have been _completely_ honest in that last paragraph. If I had my choice, I’d want you in my life as much more than a friend. You know me better than anyone else. And I don’t know if I can say it’s love, because I’m not sure I know what it really means to love someone, at least not yet, but I do know that it’s you I want to figure it out with. I think I could love you, someday. And I want to try. I want to take you to posh dinners and watch your favorite movies and go dancing together. I want to take you to meet Ebb because she’s the closest thing I have to a mum. I want to go to bed with you beside me every night and wake up every morning to your bedhead and morning breath and the creases the pillow leaves on your face. I want to fall in love with you, fangs and all, if you'll let me.

Please come back.

Simon

***

**FOUR YEARS**

_0 miles away_

***

“I’m sorry, Pen. The whole airport's snowed in. They said they’ll get me on the first flight out as soon as they’re cleared to go again.” Simon clutched the phone to his ear, pulling his luggage closer to his body with his other hand to leave room for an elderly couple to squeeze past him. “I bet they’re saying that to everyone though, so who knows how long it will be.”

Penny’s voice came through the speaker, sounding tinny and far away. Simon listened idly as she told him about the plans for Christmas Eve dinner with her boyfriend’s family in Omaha. She’d met Shepard a while back when she’d gone to visit Agatha in America, and had ended up moving there after uni. They alternated spending holidays with Shepard's family in America and Penny's family in England, and Penny had invited Simon to come to Nebraska to spend the holidays with them this year.

“I do hope you’ll make it in time, Si. We plan to start at 6, but of course we’d wait for you if you were on a flight that was arriving just a bit late. Maybe no later than 8, though, because some of Shep’s nieces and nephews are pretty young, and they’ll get tired…”

Simon was distracted by the sound of a very posh, very familiar, very irritated voice coming from the direction of the customer service desk. “I am aware of the inclement weather, yes. Any imbecile can look outside and see it. What I don’t understand is why you won’t book me a seat on the first flight out tomorrow morning—” 

“Uh, sorry Penny, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know about the flight as soon as I know, yeah?”

He hung up and lifted his luggage onto his shoulder by the strap, and started maneuvering through the crowd of stranded people towards the sound of that voice.

“I don’t _care_ if you end up having to reschedule again tomorrow morning if the storm continues. I’ll pay whatever rescheduling fees you want. I just want to be guaranteed a seat on that flight in the event that the weather clears. If that plane takes off, I want to be on it.”

The voice was attached to a tall, handsome man with dark, silky hair and a perfectly tailored suit who was leaning over the counter in a somewhat threatening way, terrorizing the poor customer service agent at the desk. 

“Baz?”

Baz froze, his spine going rigid. He straightened and slowly turned around. “Snow?”

Simon swallowed. “Um, hi?”

Baz shook his head in disbelief, blinking as if Simon were a hallucination he could make disappear through willpower alone. He turned back around, said something in a menacing tone to the customer service agent (who flinched), and made his way over to Simon, feeling about ready to vomit. 

He cleared his throat. “How are you?” he asked, a bit stiffly.

“Uh, fine?” Simon said. “You?”

“Fine.” They stared at each other for a moment. Baz looked Simon up and down, noting the old jeans, ratty trainers, and well-worn hoodie. A horrible outfit, really, but Baz had never seen anyone more attractive. “Where are you going?”

“Nebraska.” At Baz’s confused look, he added, “Penny lives there now. With her boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

“You’re going home?”

Baz nodded, then scowled. “I’m trying. The customer service people are quite unhelpful.”

“Have you tried being polite?”

Baz’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to frown or laugh. Simon gave him a tentative, lopsided grin, and Baz relented, returning an amused smile. 

“Uh,” Simon started, then paused, collecting his scattered thoughts. “I’m stuck here for the night, at least, and I assume you are too. Would you want to maybe grab dinner and catch up?”

Baz’s smile widened a bit, and he seemed to relax. He nodded. “I’d like that. It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

* * *

“So,” said Simon, after they’d each had a couple of glasses of wine and eaten their fill at one of the airport restaurants. “I don’t want to make things weird, but, can I ask you something?”

A wrinkle appeared between Baz’s eyebrows as he leaned back and frowned. Simon wanted to kiss it. (That was something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Kissing Baz.) “Ask me what?”

Simon looked away, staring at the television on the wall of the restaurant without really seeing what was on it. “Why didn’t you ever respond?”

Baz was quiet for a long time. After a few minutes of silence, Simon turned back to look at Baz, and found Baz watching him with a thoughtful look on his face. Simon took another sip of wine and waited.

The silence stretched on. Simon had just decided that Baz probably wasn’t going to answer, and he was contemplating getting up and walking out, when Baz finally spoke.

“I didn’t think I deserved to be happy.”

Simon practically slammed his wine glass down on the table. “Come again?”

“I said, I didn’t respond to you because I didn’t think I deserved to be happy. You were offering me everything I could possibly have wanted, and I couldn’t bring myself to accept.”

“That’s a fucking stupid reason, Baz.”

Wincing, Baz ducked his head under Simon’s glare. “I know. But by the time I realized how much of an idiot I was, it had been nearly a year, and I hadn’t heard from you again—”

“Because I fucking told you I’d leave you alone. I took the hints. I stopped stalking you after Watford, you know.”

“I know. But I was worried I’d only make things worse if I reached out to you then. I’d waited too long, and then Niall said he’d seen you with Gareth—”

“You can’t possibly have thought I’d date _Gareth?_ ”

“It doesn’t matter who you did or didn’t date. The point is, you’d moved on, and I didn’t want to interfere with that. I didn’t want to hold you back.”

Simon shook his head, feeling suddenly angry with Baz. It was like four years ago all over again. No one else could get under his skin the way Baz did, but part of him was glad for it. He hadn’t felt quite this alive since Baz had left.

"Can I ask you something else?"

Baz was looking vaguely uncomfortable by that point, but he gestured for Simon to continue.

"Would you have taken me back? If I'd come back and apologized after that fight we had?"

Baz frowned again, the wrinkle in his forehead reappearing. "We were never dating, Snow."

"I know, I know," Simon said with a huff. "That's—I mean, that's why I'd have apologized. But I meant, if I'd come back, would you have turned me away?"

Baz considered the question, his lips tightening into a thin line. When he spoke, it wasn't quite an answer. "Why do you think I slept with all those other men?"

Shrugging, Simon stated what he'd assumed all those years before. "Because what we were doing was, well, it was just sex, wasn't it? It didn't mean anything. And I suppose if I wasn't satisfying you, if I wasn't enough…" Simon paused and shook his head, clenching his hand into a fist under the table. He shouldn't still be feeling upset about it, not after so much time had passed. "I mean, I can't blame you, can I? You didn't do anything wrong." He looked up at Baz, smiled weakly, and said, "Water under the bridge, yeah? Doesn't matter now. No hard feelings?"

But Baz didn't return the smile. If anything, his dark expression had deepened. "You're wrong."

"What?" Simon's smile sagged.

"Don't you dare say you weren't enough, Simon. You were—You—" he broke off, struggling with the words. Simon had never seen Baz falter like this before. "I was trying to convince myself that it didn't mean anything. I thought… I thought if I could make myself believe you were just another in a line of hookups—"

Simon winced. "Look, I get it, alright? Can we just move on?"

"No, you _don't_ get it. You were more than enough. You were everything—You meant everything to me. I was terrified of getting hurt. I thought eventually you'd tire of me and leave me. So I took precautions. Held you at a distance. Pretended none of it mattered. I made sure I hurt you before you could hurt me. In fact, I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you."

Simon sat, frozen, Baz's words replaying in his mind. _You meant everything to me._ He felt dizzy, and he suddenly wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't gotten hit on the head by some falling luggage on the plane and fallen into a coma. Baz was still saying something, gesturing wildly, distress and regret etched into the lines of his face. But he may as well have been speaking gibberish, for all Simon could comprehend over the blood rushing in his ears.

"Baz?"

Baz stopped mid-sentence, his hands freezing in the air and falling to his lap. "Yes?"

“Did _you_ move on?" Simon whispered, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "After, I mean? Have you found someone else?"

“You’re the only person I’ve ever loved, Simon,” Baz said softly.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Simon pressed on. “And do you still?”

Baz leaned forward and reached across the table, then took Simon’s hand in his. Simon shivered at his touch. Baz’s fingers felt cool and soft against his skin, and he couldn’t help but think of long-past memories of those hands tracing the lines of his body. “Of course. My heart has always belonged to you, if you want it.”

Simon blinked at him, then pulled his hand back and took out his phone, focusing very hard on typing something into it.

Baz frowned. It wasn’t quite the response he’d expected to his confession of love. “What are you doing?”

Simon glanced up, then back down. “Getting us a room at the closest fucking hotel that’s posh enough that you won’t turn your nose up at it.” He lowered his voice, leaning across the table toward Baz. “It’s been over four years and there are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I _really_ want to be naked and in bed with you while I say them.”

The flush that graced Baz’s cheeks then was only partly attributable to the wine. "Well," he said, his voice coming out a bit strangled. "From the looks of that storm out there, we've got all night."

Simon grinned wickedly back at him, tapped a dozen more times on the screen of his phone, then stood, pushing his chair back and hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. He jerked his head toward the exit. "Coming?"

Baz smirked as he slipped some money under the salt shaker. "You tell me." Simon blushed furiously.

Baz stood up then, and stepped toward Simon, grasping his head on both sides and pulling him in for a kiss. Simon’s phone hit the table with a clatter when he brought both hands up to grasp at the lapels of Baz’s suit. He pulled Baz closer, kissing him deeply. 

He was three thousand, four hundred and fifty-eight miles from his flat in London, but he felt he’d finally come home.

* * *

Baz never made it onto his flight to England the next day, but Shepard’s family was more than happy to welcome Baz for the holidays. There was a bit of an awkward moment when Shepard’s mother asked if he and Simon were married, and they both glanced at each other, confused about how to answer the question, then looked at Penny, who looked even more confused and a bit uncomfortable, and then they all burst out laughing. Simon ended up introducing Baz to everyone as his boyfriend.

That was fine with both of them for now. They would take time to date, to get to know new sides of each other, to enjoy their time together. Baz still wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to get legally married, but he and Simon agreed that they didn’t mind being bonded together. 

“We’ll always be part of each other’s lives,” Simon said. “Maybe the bond was intended to be for marriage, but it doesn’t have to mean that for us. Our lives are connected, but we can decide what we want that to be.”

“And what do you want it to be?” Baz asked.

“Right now, I just want to be close to you. We can worry about the rest another day.”

Later that night, as they lay curled up in bed together, naked and warm and exhausted and satisfied, Baz leaned over and brushed the hair from Simon’s face. He pressed a soft kiss to Simon’s forehead, then his cheek, and then the tip of his nose. He kissed the largest mole just behind Simon’s jaw (one of his favourites). And after Simon turned and pressed a sleepy kiss on Baz’s lips, Baz pulled him close and whispered three short words in his ear.

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr!  
> [Gampyre on Tumblr](https://gampyre.tumblr.com/)


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